


Of Cobblestone Streets

by stonyindustries



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, POV Second Person, Sort Of, Villain Steve Rogers, Villain Tony Stark, mentions of Howard Stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 11:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14212419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonyindustries/pseuds/stonyindustries
Summary: "You know you wouldn't have done it. Because if you're being honest with yourself, you fell in love."





	Of Cobblestone Streets

A sudden laugh jars you from your thoughts. Down the quiet cobblestone street, you find a young couple approaching the various easels that surround you, a playful imitation of the walls that had surrounded you not four days ago.

As they bend to admire the works displayed in front of them, your examine them quietly; the woman is of average height and fiery hair is brushed across one shoulder, complimented by a long emerald coat. Blue eyes dance in a face done up with too much make-up as she inspects your rough oil paintings and charcoal sketches. She is nothing of note.

He is wearing an expensive-looking black suit, matched with a maroon shirt that's been tugged loose. A gold watch shines from his left wrist. Dark hair is windswept and and coffee brown eyes gaze at the woman softly. As your gaze wanders to the intricate gold band on her left ring finger, you wonder why he seems vaguely familiar and realise he's the one you saw talking to the bank manager this morning. The one who had called him 'dad'...

You stand up and smile, pushing back the cap that has been hiding your face since Christmas Eve. A light snow begins to fall. “How 'bout a portrait for the lovely couple?” you ask. The young man looks at you, those dark eyes sharp and curious. “Picturesque, ain't it?”

 

*****

 

He greets you in the long hallway of his New York penthouse. As he leads you into the living room, you notice the painting you did for him and his fiancée four months ago.

You think back to that night, remember how she left once you were finished, saying she was tired. They shared a chaste kiss before she hurried back down the cobblestone street. You remember how he glanced at you and you grinned at the perfect coincidence. You remember how naive they both seemed, how quickly you and him were sharing a kiss far more intimate than the one they had shared. From there, it had continued in exactly the right direction.

“I know about your plans.” His voice draws you out of your thoughts with a start. Comprehension is a slow, clumsy thing. You blink as it settles and try to remain impassive as your heart starts to pound. “Plans?” you ask, because there's no way he can know. You've kept everything under lock and key, have barely even - “Steve. I know, and I want to help.”

 

*****

 

You feel the bullet rip through layers of skin, puncture muscle and scrape bone. You put your free hand to your chest as you fall to your knees, your cuffed hand preventing you from collapsing altogether. There's a ringing in your ears and bile is crawling up your throat as pain blossoms and grows out and digs its thorns into your lungs, your ribs, your heart, until you're gasping for breath. The coppery scent of blood, your blood, permeates the air as it trickles between your fingers and gathers in a pool at your knees. Somewhere to your right, you're dimly aware of ragged breathing and soft cries.

“Oh Pepper, shut up,” an irritated voice sighs followed by the sound of a Glock firing and a dull thud. The voice turns back to you and you look up to the young man it belongs to. As you think back to the first time you heard that voice, laughing in a quiet cobblestone street, you almost laugh at the irony. You probably would have if it didn't cause the pain to burrow its thorns in deeper.

It had seemed so convenient at the time and he had seemed so innocent. He was a means to an end, a way to get easy access to the most secure bank in the state. He was never meant to be the reason you're currently keeled over in a vault, handcuffed to the bars that line each wall and bleeding out from a hole in the middle of your chest. It also doesn't escape your notice that he allowed you to get to this point. _So close and yet so far_ , you think, not with a little bitterness. He turns to you. “Surprised, sweetheart?” he croons. All you can do is groan at the pain that comes with trying to respond.

You are surprised; surprised and disappointed. Disappointed over the fact that it's you on the floor and him smirking above you. If you're being honest with yourself, you're disappointed it's not you who gets to watch his body hit the floor, watch the realisation and hurt sink in as the light leaves those brown eyes. Although, you know you wouldn't have done it. Because if you're being honest with yourself, you fell in love.

You open your mouth to tell him such, save, perhaps, the last part, but all that comes out is blood that you have to desperately cough up so as not to choke. You look up and try to muster up a glare, try not to look weak, pathetic. “Don't look so hurt, babe,” he murmurs, “You would have done the same.” His face twists in another cruel smirk as he adds "Or maybe not."

As the edges of you vision begin to blur, he leans down to press a kiss to your cheek and the last thing you see before you allow unconsciousness, and undoubtedly death, to claim you are those brown eyes. Full of curiosity and intelligence, yes, but now you can recognise the other things hidden there as well. The proud contempt and gentle cruelty.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing fanfic so I'm really sorry if there are any mistakes, hope you enjoyed it though and thanks for reading :)


End file.
